


Average Mornings

by TriffidsandCuckoos



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:06:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriffidsandCuckoos/pseuds/TriffidsandCuckoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Nothing exciting in the paper today. What a surprise.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Average Mornings

Nothing exciting in the paper today. What a surprise.

"I don't know why you bother reading that."

"Some of us actually care about what's happening in the rest of the world," he retorts, without looking up. 

"Does any of it directly affect you?"

"It might."

"And how often does that happen?"

John scowls down at the face of a politician whose name his brain is already aching to forget. "It matters."

"Of course it does," his flatmate says, patronising and judgemental as ever. Another day at the office. "Hence why you never bother to read more than three pages that don’t cover rugby or Afghanistan."

As ever, John feels like he should object in some way, just to stop the idiot being entirely right. At some point the petty victories became the ones to pursue in his life. "It's not just Afghanistan."

"I was generalising. That's what normal people do in their normal conversations, isn't it?"

John lowers the paper enough to attempt a Look, all raised eyebrow and disapproval. All he gets in return is a smug smirk. Well, that and the realisation that his toast has disappeared. "I was going to eat that."

"The toaster still works."

He'd object further, if it wasn't for the fact that his flatmate willingly eating isn't something he wants to discourage in any way. He still mutters some sort of comeback or insult as he rises from his chair – he's not entirely sure what.

"Such a delightful conversation partner in the mornings."

"Piss off."

If there's one thing he doesn't need when his head can't seem to think straight, it's that bloody Irish drawl. 

Bizarrely, their toaster seems to be in a decent mood today, because he manages to skip his usual battle with it and return armed with toast which he promises himself will be guarded far more closely this time. He takes a bite, and then tries to remember if he had trouble with the previous slice.

And then tries to remember making the previous slice at all.

He frowns. There's an itch, somewhere inside his head, where he can't get at it. Something's off here. Something's wrong.

"You're thinking."

"Of course I'm thinking. We all think, Jim."

"Does it hurt for you? You always look like you're in _pain_."

John considers the time-honoured 'piss off' option, but he already used that. Damn. His brain really doesn't want to work. Everything feels sluggish. Underwater.

As proof that he can't think straight, he doesn't stop himself before he says, "You ever feel like you're still dreaming after you wake up?" Immediately he winces, waiting for the inevitable insults and lectures and God knows what else. If anything is likely to set his flatmate off, it's something as illogical as dreams.

Oddly enough though, after a few moments have passed he still can't hear anything. Instead, Jim is just watching him closely, lips pursed, obviously thinking very hard indeed about something. John squirms uncomfortably. For some reason this time being pinned by those eyes makes him feel more like a specimen than anything else.

"What do you think you're dreaming about?" Jim finally asks. John just blinks at him in surprise. "What doesn't seem right to you?"

"I – I don't know," he says, exasperated, wishing he hadn't said anything. Trying to avoid any discussion – fat chance, his flatmate rarely drops something once he gets going – he returns to his paper, flicking over the page and raising an eyebrow at the talk of robbery. Maybe something Jim might find interesting.

Only before he can say anything, his eyes fall on a blurred picture next to the piece. There, in the background, is a tall man in a long coat. You can't see his face, but that doesn't matter. John already knows who it is.

_Oh God._ If Holmes is back, then that isn't good at all.

_Tell Jim,_ he thinks, and something about the thought – as bizarrely as it sounds – tastes wrong. Like the shape of it doesn't fit.

It's when he looks up again that finally that the 'something' that's been escaping him leaps into clear focus.

He leaps to his feet, the chair falling to the ground, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the counter behind him. Suddenly, he feels afraid. More afraid than he has in a very long time.

Jim Moriarty raises an eyebrow, obviously amused. "Something wrong, Johnny?"

"What are you doing here?" he demands, his voice smooth and calm in perfect counterpoint with how he feels. Always the way. "What did you do?"

"What did _I/_ do?" Jim titters, the sounds sending shivers down John's spine. "What did _you_ do? You're the one who sent him away."

"No," John insists, shaking his head, "no, I - I didn't - "

"You didn't notice. You didn't _care_. One or the other, all the same to you, isn't it?"

John wants to go for a weapon, but he feels weak, his arms barely strong enough to hold him up as his legs sag underneath him. And then he's gone, sinking to the floor, thinking, _No._

Suddenly Jim is there, on the other side of the table and staring into his eyes. "What do you think you're trying to tell yourself?" he whispers. "That you'd rather be with me?" A hand reaches out, and - oh _God_ \- caresses John's cheek. It's cold. So cold. "What on _Earth_ could you be thinking?"

_I don't know._

"Going to have to speak up a bit, Johnny boy."

John meets his gaze, and his lips move without his consent. "I don't know."

"Don't worry," Jim reassures him, cooing, soothing. And then his mouth moves, but the voice which emerges is Sherlock's. "You will soon."

Then, and only then, John wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> Extract from my Sherlock/Inception crossover (currently stuck in development hell).


End file.
